


Shake 'Em Down

by enoughtotemptme



Series: Fall Back Together Universe [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughtotemptme/pseuds/enoughtotemptme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy comes home from a long day at the museum to find Clarke dancing in the kitchen.</p><p>(Bonus Scene from the <i>Fall Back Together</i> universe.)</p><p>(Day Six of #OneYearOfThe100 Week: Favorite Genre)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shake 'Em Down

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a domestic fluff piece and then transformed into fluffy domestic PWP, which is apparently my favorite genre. Especially when countertops are involved.
> 
> You don't need to have read _Fall Back Together_ to read this fic. Hope you enjoy!

When Bellamy walks in the door, he’s got the niggling start of a headache, so he’s a little perturbed by the retro music blasting from the kitchen and the lights blazing throughout the house. He hangs up his jacket, kicks off his shoes, puts his keys in the little misshapen bowl Clarke made in the first and last pottery class she ever took (“Even you can’t be good at _everything,_ princess,” he had soothed her when she came home smudged with clay and grumpy as hell; "I'm an _art teacher_ , Bellamy, and I can't even operate a pottery wheel properly!") and silently makes his way to the kitchen.

The music is coming from Clarke's phone in the docking station she _insisted_ on for the kitchen when they moved into the house. Clarke’s swaying in place in front of the stove, circling her hips energetically to _Twist and Shout_ as she stirs a pot of spaghetti sauce. In spite of his headache, Bellamy smiles at the sight of her with her hair twisted up in a knot on top of her head, already changed out of her work clothes into tiny sleep shorts and a tank top. As he leans against the doorway and watches, she grabs a glass from the counter and takes a big swig of a Jack and Coke, and Bellamy raises an eyebrow.

Dancing and Cooking Clarke might just be Tipsy Clarke, too.

Just then, as the song changes, she taps the wooden spoon clean, sets it down on the spoonrest, and spins away from the stove, singing the lyrics. He knows as soon as she spots him, because she nearly trips over herself as she pirouettes, but then she just grins at him and blows a kiss as her hips start circling more dramatically.

“Do you _love_ me?” she sings, shimmying back and forth across the tile floor in socked feet and pointing at him. “ _Now_ that _I_ can _dance_?”

He can’t help but laugh at her, even as the pained exhaustion of dealing with recalcitrant donors all day long slowly drifts away.

She dances her way over to him until she can fist a hand in his button down and pull him further into the kitchen. She doesn’t stop until their chests bump together and she twines her arms around his neck. Bellamy automatically grasps her thigh to hold it in place when she wraps one leg around his hips, and the other hand slides around her waist as she starts dancing in earnest.

 _Oh god_ , is all Bellamy can think as all the pounding in his head is abruptly redirected to where she’s enthusiastically grinding against him.

“Tell me baby, now do you like it like this?” she croons along with the song, and then leans back. Her top stretches taut over her breasts and Bellamy has to swallow hard as the temperature in the kitchen seems to rocket up.

“Yeah,” he answers, voice hoarse, and then nearly drops Clarke when she lets go of him and starts giggling.

“Jesus, Clarke!” he says, grabbing her tighter and hauling her back upright.

“Sorry!” she gasps. “You––just––it was funny!”

After he lets her go and makes sure she can stand on her own two feet––it’s a little touch and go for a second, and he wonders if that drink on the counter is not her first––she beams at him and pops up on her tiptoes to give him a smacking kiss.

“Hi!” she says brightly.

“Hi,” he replies dryly. “You’ve seen _Dirty Dancing_ too many times.”

“You’re the one who bought our copy!” she replies, outraged.

“It was for Octavia,” he defends, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“Bellamy, did you forget I was roommates with Octavia? I know for a fact she’s owned her own copy of _Dirty Dancing_ since she was twelve years old.”

“Uh,” he says. “It’s her spare.”

“Right, sure,” she says. “Well, how was your day?” she asks, turning back to the stove and turning down the heat as if she didn’t just grind against him until his cock ached. “Mmm,” she adds, tasting the sauce.

“Shitty,” he gets out, too focused on the way her tongue is tracing the edge of the wooden spoon. “The McConnells argued with me all day long about the proper way to display their family heirlooms. They didn’t think the museum was doing _justice_ to their _priceless family artifacts._ ”

“Rude,” she says, pulling out a pot and setting it in the sink to fill. He’s a little puzzled when she barely turns the faucet, water just trickling out of the tap and hitting the pot with a tinny sound.

But then Clarke moves away from the sink and hops up on the counter.

“Nobody puts Bellamy in the corner,” she says, crooking a finger at him with a look in her eyes that has him swallowing hard.

“Clarke––” he starts, his eyes darting to the simmering sauce, to the slowly filling pot in the sink.

“Uh-uh,” she says, and slowly spreads her thighs wide apart with a coy smile. Her little sleep shorts are definitely not the most modest garment, and from this angle Bellamy can see the frilly blue edges of her panties peeking out.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and crosses the length of the kitchen in two quick strides until he’s pressed right up against her.

She makes a startled little noise, but wastes no time wrapping her legs around his hips and pinning him in place against her. He places one hand on her ribcage and the other on the small of her back and urges her even closer, rubbing against her between her legs.

When she lets out a breathy little moan, he leans forward and catches her mouth in a hot kiss, and she starts fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. After a couple seconds of her struggling, he nips at her lower lip and then pulls back, quickly getting rid of his shirt and yanking his belt out of the loops.

Clarke’s pupils are blown wide as she braces her hands on the countertop so she can lift her hips off the surface.

“A little help?” she asks, her voice raspy. Bellamy grins and yanks the little shorts and panties off together, dropping them to be forgotten on the floor.

He steps forward again and ducks to nibble where her nipples are straining through the thin fabric of her top, and her hands clutch at his shoulders. When Bellamy peeks up at her, her head is thrown back, eyes closed as the pink in her cheeks grows deeper.

(He wonders how pink he can make her. It’s always been one of his favorite colors on her.)

He reaches between her legs and finds her slick and warm, and he traces circles around her clit until her hips are gyrating, trying to force his fingers to actually make contact. Though his cock is hard and aching for her by now, and it’s all he can do not to strip his pants and sink into her without so much as a word, he keeps teasing her until her shirt is damp from his mouth and Clarke’s whimpering every time he doesn’t touch her where she _really_ wants him to.

He wouldn’t have stopped even then––Crazy-For-Him Clarke is one of Bellamy’s all-time-favorite Clarkes––but she shoves him away with a groan so she can strip off her own shirt.

Bellamy smiles when he sees the deep pink flush across her breasts, then chokes when Clarke grabs him through his pants.

“The pot’s going to overflow,” she tells him, then presses her bare torso against his, dragging her nipples over his skin and sending sizzling little lines of pleasure zinging straight through him.

“Don’t care,” he grits out as she moves the heel of her palm in slow, firm strokes over his confined cock. “ _Fuck_ , Clarke.”

She pulls her hand and her chest away and gives him a smug smile.

“Yes, please.”

The peninsula she’s sitting on is big enough for her to lie back, and he urges her down until she’s laid out like a feast before him.

“It’s cold on my back,” she complains, wriggling her whole body as he watches.

“I’ll warm you up,” he promises, and because he knows her, he cuts off her predicted snort by palming her inner thighs and leaning down to take a long, slow lick up her slit.

“Oh–– _oh_ ,” she says as he feels her muscles spasm in surprise and in arousal, and when his tongue finally lingers on the clit his fingers had avoided so carefully, it takes very little time for her thighs to start trembling nonstop. Her legs strain against as his hands as she comes with a string of “ _Oh oh oh_ ”s until they suddenly go lax and she lies there, chest heaving, splayed out on the counter as the water runs over the lip of the pot and down the drain.

Bellamy steps back from the counter and the sight of Clarke prone on the countertops like that has his fingers fumbling at the zipper of his slacks, barely able to shove them down his hips along with his boxers. He quickly kicks them off and leans forward over Clarke, bracing his arms on either side of her as their bodies align.

“Hi,” she murmurs, eyes hooded when he kisses her.

“Hi,” he replies. “You good, princess?” He slides his cock along her slit in case she doesn’t know what he means, and she hisses a little as she grabs his back.

“Yeah,” she says, “I’m good. Get going, Blake.”

So he does. She’s soft and hot and perfect around him when he thrusts into her, and _shit,_ he’s not going to last very long. But that doesn’t seem to be a problem for Clarke, still sensitive from her first orgasm. He’s able to grind against her clit with every short, hard stroke until she’s clenching around him and his name is dropping in broken syllables from her lips, and he buries his face in her neck with a groan as he comes.

Eventually he notices Clarke’s hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, and even though even _that_ feels fucking amazing, he pulls away from her with a groan so he can help her up.

She grabs his offered hands and grimaces as her skin peels away from the stone countertop. Once they’re both standing naked in the middle of their kitchen, she drapes herself bonelessly against him. Bellamy idly thinks that they probably should get dressed, disinfect that counter, resume making dinner, but what the hell. He'll hold a naked Clarke as fucking long as she wants him to.

Then she says, “I’m hungry." He snorts and gently pushes her away.

“Then we should probably eat dinner, spaghetti arms,” he replies, and she pokes him in the chest.

“ _Dirty Dancing_!” she exclaims. “Don’t you dare try and tell me it’s Octavia’s movie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “You’re the one who _recognizes_ the reference.”

“We’re watching it after dinner,” she announces, and escapes to their bathroom to clean up.

Later, the sauce on their pasta tastes a little burnt, but Clarke just shrugs and uses it as an excuse to add more parmesan, claiming they earned the extra calories.

 


End file.
